O.K., so what in the name of George Washington and the Continental Congress is going on here? You tell me. It’s nuts. Even now, even knowing what I do about the wacky, crazy-as-a-bunch-of-shithouse-rats American electorate, I can hardly believe the numbers. This thing is a dead heat? A statistical tie, within the polling margin of error? Really? How, for rice cakes? Donald’s out there, yammering like a gibbering idiot to half-empty halls of yawning MAGA loyalists, many of them making for the exits after enduring an hour or so of the doddering dimwit’s various unconnected Deep Thoughts (mostly the usual grievances about the 2020 election being stolen etc., leavened with sundry fraudulent claims about crime rates and the economy, and, lately, the assertion that he’s much better looking than Kamala). He sounds mentally ill and looks physically spent, floundering in the aftermath of a dismal convention that featured the likes of Kid Rock screaming like a banshee at a bunch of confused caucasian senior citizens, and Hulk Hogan performing his classic, steroid-enhanced WWE schtick of yesteryear, including his signature move of tearing off his own shirt (though this time only to reveal another t-shirt underneath, perhaps hiding some age-related deterioration to his once bulging pecs – hey, it happens to all of us). Trump’s keynote address was a depressing, 90 minute rote regurgitation of his usual incoherent stump speech, only less energetic. Since then, it’s only gotten worse. The wheels are coming off, I mean, listen to this guy:
Donald’s shedding parts and leaking oil, while the only thing serving as a distraction from the pratfalls at the top of the GOP ticket is the generally creepy and uncanny demeanour of deeply unpopular VP candidate J.D. Vance, a misogynist gaffe machine decked out in eyeliner who’s best described as “incredibly life-like”. Did you catch his disastrous attempted photo op grip-and-grin at the doughnut shop? Man, talk about cringe. In the wake of that fiasco, the wags on TikTok are coming out with virtual non-parodies like this:
Meanwhile, Kamala’s on fire, coming off a remarkably successful and slickly-produced convention that featured numerous stemwinding, barn-burning speeches, including her own, watched by close to 30 million viewers, which had pundits describing her as presidential, genuine, passionate, intelligent, and eloquent. Her VP pick, the funny, avuncular Tim Walz, is knocking them out of the park – everybody likes the guy. When he walks in unannounced to a fast food joint, the workers gather round, all smiles, and start taking selfies. The Harris campaign has pulled in 540 million bucks over the past month, a record, nearly all of it from small-dollar donors contributing five to ten bucks at a time. Volunteers, now over 360,000 strong, have flocked to the Harris banner, ready to man the phones and knock on millions of doors all across the country. Campaign events are packing them in to the rafters, with enthusiastic crowds lining up to the horizon and filling the seats hours in advance of the candidates taking the stage. Kamala’s not just a happy warrior, she’s a frickin’ rock star, gaining what seems to be inexorable momentum as Donald, stepping on rakes and whining like a five-year-old being hauled empty-handed from the toy store, is running around in aimless circles, huffing and puffing, covered in flop sweat and fixing to keel over.
So what gives? Take a look at the aggregate poll results published today in the NY Times, attached at the top. Kamala’s up nationally by three lousy points, which, in America’s dysfunctional, Electoral College-blighted, minority-takes-all constitutional dog’s breakfast of a system, just isn’t enough. That’s about the same lead Hillary enjoyed, when she won the popular vote by 3 million ballots, and lost the election. In the crucial swing states, where the percentages matter far more than the national aggregate, it’s pretty much tied, right across the board. Unless there’s something dramatically askew with the polling methodology, which can neither be ruled out nor relied upon, this thing is shaping up to be a squeaker, to be decided in all likelihood by fewer than 100,000 votes spread over a handful of battleground states, just as it was last time, and the time before that.
At least there’s no longer any frivolous and vexatious third party candidate with enough juice to siphon off a decisive block of votes, though this time around, the likely skunk at the garden party, whack-job RFK Jr. – the anti-vaxx crusading, brain worm afflicted, beached whale decapitating, Central Park depositor of ursine roadkill – was more likely to poach Trump than Harris voters, before he withdrew from the race and threw his support behind Donald. Here’s hoping this won’t amount to a material boost to the GOP. It’s too much to ask, of course, that the hearty endorsement of such an unsavoury and plainly maladjusted nut-bar would harm the Trump campaign.
Look, I know the American electorate is half-crazed, and so timorously tribal that almost nothing can shake the MAGA cultists out of their entrenched, hereditary voting patterns, but at some point it starts to beggar belief. For Pete’s sake, look at this woman:
Damn. She seems strong, confident, and fully in charge, doesn’t she? It’s like she’s already Commander-in-Chief. Look at her easy rapport with the troops, those volunteers in uniform denigrated by Donald as suckers and losers. She appears presidential. She looks good. Leave aside the horrors of Project 2025, Trump’s lifelong history as a grifter, fraud, rapist, tax evader and criminal, his disastrous mishandling of the pandemic and general lack of policy accomplishments, his toadying to foreign tyrants – not to mention that he incited an insurrection and tried to put an end to America’s 248 year run as a constitutional republic functioning under the rule of law – just forget all that and focus only on the superficials, as if you’re a low wattage moron predisposed to judge books by their covers. Even at that, how can you prefer a stumbling, bumbling, incoherent bag of hair like Trump to this woman who oozes competence and energy, and isn’t hampered by the limitations of a fourth grade vocabulary? Would the same voters who want Donald back in the Oval trust him to run a local day care, say, or even a car wash? I doubt it, not if their own kids and cars were at risk. Yet they’re fine with handing him the nuclear codes. Hunh?
Somebody help me out here. This can’t be happening. It can’t be this close. It just can’t be. I don’t believe it.
Then again, over the past few years of serving as your faithful scribe, I haven’t believed a lot of things. They proved true anyway.
70 days to go.
the needlefish 